


Nobody puts Listy in a corner

by DivineVarod



Category: Red Dwarf
Genre: Angst and Humor, Closeted Character, Cute, Denial, Dirty Dancing References, Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Series, Sexual Confusion, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:11:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivineVarod/pseuds/DivineVarod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rimmer froze: What was Lister implying? Was he saying that he thought he was some sort of weirdo who gave free dancing lessons just to get some form of human contact? Because if he did then ... he was absolutely right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody puts Listy in a corner

“Okay. One, two three, sway, one two three slide.”  
  
Arnold Rimmer held Dave Lister and elegantly swayed the young Scouser round the room. The Second Technician had been teaching his younger bunkmate how to dance for the last week or so and was proud to say he was seeing some result.  
  
"AU!"  
  
Rimmer realised that _was_ was the appropriate tense as the Third technician trod harshly on his foot.The waltz was aborted swiftly.  
   
“Damn you to all the way to Hades!! I said: Right foot first Lister, RIGHT foot first!!”  
  
"Sorry, man." Lister said, not sounding sorry at all, as he turned to take a swig from one of the dozens of half empty beer cans he seemed to collect around the bunk room. Rimmer cringed: he knew that particular can had been standing there for at least three weeks. He always wondered how it was possible that Lister had never ended up in the medibay with acute salmonella poisoning. Or whatever it was you could catch from old beer and mouldy curry on a space ship.  
   
“Smeg, this is hard." Lister exclaimed after swallowing the stale lager. "I never expected it to be hard.”  
  
So dancing wasn't as easy as it looked, eh? Rimmer straightened his posture and smiled a smug smile. Lister was finally learning that not everything in life came easily. He, Arnold J. Rimmer had a skill that Dave Lister could never excel at.  
   
“Well, of-course it's hard you gimboid. Classical ballroom is the very top of dancing. It's for the well-bread, the cream of the crop!”  
  
Lister scowled at Rimmer and stuck out his tongue at him.  
   
“Yes, and smegheads.”  
  
The brief moment of happy pride immediately withered and died inside the Second technician. Seriously? Lister had practically begged him for dancing lessons and now he had the gal to tell him that it was for smegheads? To basically call him a smeghead?   
Was this the thanks he got for all those days of effort? That was a low blow. He turned away from Lister and sat down on the edge of his bunk.  
   
“That's rich coming from you.” Rimmer said, more hurt than he'd expected to sound.  
   
Lister put the can away and walked towards Rimmer.

“Hey, sorry man. I didn't mean it like that.”  
  
Oh now he was sorry again? Well, he wasn't going to accept that apology so smegging easily. Forget it. He had done something nice for him and he expected to see some proper gratitude. Quickly fighting through an avalanche of conflicting emotions Rimmer turned the hurt he could not place into indignant anger.

“Oh smeg of Lister. Have you forgotten who you superior is? I have better things to do than to stand here being insulted. You asked me to help you, remember?”  
  
Lister backed away in annoyance: a fight would be imminent, they both knew it.  
   
“Hey, I said I'm sorry. I was only teasing you. I didn't mean anything. And ... actually ... you're not  standing, are ya?"  
  
Rimmer stood up to face the Scouser: he stepped towards him and put his face right in front of his.  
   
"Oh, yes Lister. How very smegging clever of you to needle me on a word!"  
  
Then he stopped, just stopped. He didn't know why but ... he didn't want to fight. He took a rather wobbly step backwards and closed his eyes. He wished he'd just ignored Lister's smeghead comment, but it had hurt too much to do so. He hated to admit it but ...: The last few days had been fun and he had hoped Lister had enjoyed it it too. Being together, talking, dancing: it felt as if they were friends. He had never been happier. But it had been a lie, he was sure. So to ward himself against further pain he'd better keep his dignity and end things now.  
   
"I'm surprised you even want to be around me anyway.” He heard himself say, his voice sounding dangerously close to cracking. He opened his eyes: there was Lister, smiling up at him with those naughty, twinkly eyes. What was going on with him: he'd never wanted friends or needed company. At least he'd always told himself he didn't. What was this weird slobby thing doing to him? Why was he breaking through all the protective walls he'd build around himself only to leave him hurt again?  
    
“Of course I do, you're my friend, aren't you?”  
  
_What did he just say?_  
   
The Second Technician snorted heartily, was Lister being put up to this or something? Was this part of a bet? He had to get this over with: save his dignity, protect himself from this man.  
    
“I must have missed that memo Dave Lister. I think the only reason you're with me every day this week is to sweet talk me into free dancing lessons so you can impress a certain Kristine Kochanski at the Summer Solstice Ball ...”  
  
To Rimmer's surprise there was a ripple of hurt in Lister's eyes.  
   
“Well, it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be.” The Scouser then shrugged.  
  
Oh now that was too much. So Lister practically admitted that all he'd wanted to use Rimmer for were his dancing skills while just a moment ago he was telling him they were friends?  
    
“That's supposed to be a compliment, Lister? Well, thank you very much for the glowing praise.”  
  
Rimmer moved away from Lister: he could not look at him now.  
  
“Smeg it Rimmer, why do you always take smeg the wrong way?”  
  
How many ways are there to interpret someone sticking out their tongue at you and calling something they asked you to teach them a thing for smegheads?  
   
“You might think I'm taking it the wrong way, but I've been hurt too often to take it any other way. I'm sorry Lister. The lessons are over. Now, if you'll excuse me: Lots to do, lots to catch up on."  
  
Rimmer wanted to walk out of the room but found the door was blocked by an angry Scouser staring up at him balefully.  
   
“Oh come off it Rimmer. It's not as if you really have anything better to do, is it? As if there are any friends who's company you're missing out on?”  
The Second Technician physically swayed at that: had Lister been thinking he was doing him a favour or something: spending some time with the poor lonely bunk mate? If that was the truth he'd soon learn that Arnold J. Rimmer was _not_ a charity case!!  
   
“Maybe not. But I could have used my time in constructive ways: studying, researching, buttering up Todhunter. It's not as if I was enjoying the company, or anything.”  
  
That could have been snappier, he could have peppered it with lots of goits and gimboids and he could have compared Lister to a plethora of monkey species from Bonobo all the way up to Orang-utan. But he didn't because he was lying and he'd always been a bad liar. This was the opposite of what he wanted to say: this was practically admitting that he was desperate to have Lister by him to keep him from going crazy with loneliness on a ship filled with thousands of people. And Lister knew, else he wouldn't be wiggling his eyebrows at him so provocatively.  
   
“You weren't?”  
  
Rimmer turned away, his fists clenched, his eyes scrunched up tightly.

“No ...”  
  
Now what? He suddenly felt arms wrapped around him, a warm body pressed against his back, swaying rhythmically. _No Lister! Please Lister!_  
   
“You're absolutely sure? Because I saw you smile a few times this week. And you seemed pretty eager to explain the waltz when I was being the girl. Remember? 'Place your hand in the small of her back' … And you always have a pretty big smile now, when I wrap my arms around you. Oh Rimsy if you need a hug, you could have just asked ..."  
  
Rimmer froze: What was Lister implying? Was he saying that he thought he was some sort of weirdo who gave free dancing lessons just to get some form of human contact? Because if he did then ... he was absolutely right. But he couldn't have him know that! What if he told his friends? They would tell Todhunter and soon the whole ship would know. They would laugh at him, mock him. Smeg, maybe the Captain would have him locked up! He had to get out of this embrace, this warm loving embrace that made him feel ... oh strange things ...  
    
“Oh smeg of you goit." He snapped as he roughly escaped the warm arms that held him. "I've not been enjoying it at all. Pressing myself against your filthy stained rags, breathing in the smell of curry and lager for hours every day? Don't flatter yourself, baby! You're no Jennifer Grey!!”  
  
Grinning victoriously Lister took a faux coquettish dance pose.  
   
“Hey, nobody puts Baby in a corner!”  
   
“Oh tee hee … Look, you know more than enough now. Just go to your girlfriend and finish your lessons with her. It's not as if you're gonna need me after this, is it? I mean you're not dancing with me at that smegging ball, are you?"

Why did it hurt him so much to say this? What did it matter that he'd only get to dance with Lister hidden away, here, in the bunkroom, while Lister and Kochanski would be dancing in the light, bright big ballroom. Why would that matter? Why did he care? A hand on his shoulder: Lister really had to stop being so tactile.

 "Why you sound so jealous?" Lister asked softly. "Hey, you're shaking. What's wrong?"

 _Jealous?_  Rimmer frowned. He wasn't jealous at all. What was there to be jealous about?  
Was he jealous of how happy Lister would be that night? Dressing up to the best of his ability, ecstatic to be taking his girl to their first dance? Of how they would laugh together, whisper together, kiss: out there as a real couple?  
Jealous of how Lister would proudly show of his new moves to her? Of how Lister's hand would be in the small of Kochanski's back? Of how her head would be on his shoulder? Of how no one would laugh at them for dancing together while he sat alone in the bunkroom as he did every ball, every holiday every happy gathering that required someone to be happy with?  
He felt Lister's hand glowing on his back. He harshly shook it off. He wasn't jealous not jealous at all. And these were not tears he felt pricking behind his eyes. He wasn't in love with the dirty Scouser so what was there to be jealous of?

"Lister ... I ...:

His train of thought was abruptly derailed when Kochanski entered. A strange wave of pain overtook him when Lister immediately seemed to forget about him and his Bunkmate's face broke into the brightest smile he'd ever seen.  
  
"Hey Krissy!" The Scouser beamed.  
  
She smiled back. That pinball smile Lister had been talking about. He hated it: hated it because Lister couldn't smegging stop going on about it. It was fake he just knew it. She'd probably rehearsed it for years just to seduce some poor sap into falling in love with her. Pinball smile indeed.  
  
"Hi Dave, Rimmer ..."  
  
_"Rimmer!"_ As if she even wanted him here. Did Lister hear how she said it? Rimmer, to rhyme with scum!  
  
They kissed, right there in front of him. How vulgar, how rude. And this lady was an officer? He'd make sure to file a ten page report about her indecent activities. But now, now he had to go!  
  
"My erm ... shift is starting ..." Actually, it was their shift that was starting, but he really wanted to be away from Lister for as long as possible.  
They didn't even hear him. As he walked to the door he heard Lister say:

 "Look what Rimmer taught me!" It was already starting; he'd be dancing with her now and he couldn't face it, he couldn't. Why would this hurt so much? Had he not taught him to dance for this exact reason?  
  
As he hoarsely whispered "Open" to leave the room, lines worked their way into his mind. They came from that old 1980's dance movie he had mocked Lister with earlier. He finally understood them. It was as if they'd been written for him:

 _"Me? I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of what I saw, I'm scared of what I did, of who I am, and most of all I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you."_  
  
Music started. When he walked out out he could just see Lister taking Kochanski's hand. His chest felt tight and painful. But he wasn't jealous, not jealous at all.


End file.
